


Sleep Provides

by HelenVanPattersonPatton



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 12:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3446924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelenVanPattersonPatton/pseuds/HelenVanPattersonPatton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don't always know when meeting a person if they will end up being an important part of your life. Sometimes you do. Ellie knew it when she met Joe. As soon as the strapping Welsh paramedic showed up and smiled cheekily at her, she knew. Had she been told one bright, late-summer day that the rumpled and surly job-thief she met on the beach, on what Ellie naively thought would be one of the worst days of her life, would be a rare and indispensable person, she would have balked. She would have been wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep Provides

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cereal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cereal/gifts).



> cereal, your blog, general love of all things DT, and utterly FANTASTIC story, Stranger Than Friction., were all driving forces in writing this story. Thanks for that, and for simply being awesome. 
> 
> My undying thanks to Calliope_Soars, PhunkyBrewster, Smapdi, DeadPigeon, and alittlenutjob for reading this monolith of a story. Your insight and advice is invaluable. 
> 
> This was written in the fall of 2013. I have not seen, nor do I know anything regarding series two yet. Still, I'm sure this story nails the show's plot dead-on! ;-)

* * *

**Prologue**

No matter how hard or what she tries - wine, the sleeping tablets that always used to work, sheer exhaustion - sleep never comes in any form other than hour long intervals. The upside is she never gets deep enough into a REM cycle to dream. There are no wispy memories of their happy times together, no violent nightmares that fill in the blanks of what really happened between her husband and Danny Latimer.

The downside is the brutal fatigue that slices like a serrated knife into what few reserves of energy Ellie Miller can muster. The hard edge of wakefulness abrades her all the time, leaving her a shadow of her former self.

It makes the court proceedings - her soon to be ex-husband pleading guilty and sparing everyone a murder trial - even more surreal. The work of packing up her house, moving across town and changing her eldest son's school stays like a fog in her head. Tom wanted to stay in Broadchurch; Jesus only knows why. Closer to what's left of their small family maybe? The need to protect her son's desire for normalcy, not wanting to uproot his life any more than it already is, trumped her need to run as far away from this town and these people as possible. Still, she clings to the outskirts.

When she collapses in the queue of the supermarket, the doctor who sees her prescribes anti-anxiety pills and a sedative. The anti-anxiety medication gently rubs all the rough edges off her, simultaneously making her feel relaxed and like she may drown in a tide of oppressive fog all at once. She uses them sparingly. The sedative only makes things worse. Ellie still can't sleep, and the drugs only drag her down further.

She wakes, after those spare moments strung together, and can feel the start of tears clawing at her throat. Ellie spends her nights haunting their over-stuffed rental home. She compulsively checks on Tom a dozen times a night, just to make sure he's still in his bed, and spends hours in Fred's nursery listening to the soft whistle of her son's breath, his mouth in a perfect rosebud.

Those few and far between friends who made an effort to be a part of what's left of the Millers' lives slowly winnow out. Her misery pushes them away. And she's grateful for it, really. The work of putting on a stoic face, a facade over their shattered lives, is too much for her. It's hard enough keeping a smile on her face for her children's sake.

Ellie lies awake and wonders how long it takes to die of a broken heart.

* * *

 

** Chapter 1 **

After five months she didn't think she'd ever hear from Alec Hardy again, the call coming as a surprise. When she picks up she tries to sound normal, light, some semblance of their old banter. "I thought for sure you'd be dead by now."

"Tried my best. Bloody surgeon did her job too well." His brogue is dry and cracked over the line, his voice sounding as rough as she feels.

So the surgery then. She hopes someone was there to bring him grapes. "What made you change your mind?"

"I - uh," Ellie swears she can hear him squinting, hand rubbing the back of his head, stalling. "I wasn't busy. And dying was taking forever. Figured I'd speed up the process and the whole thing went wrong. Here I am."

She doesn't believe him. Not the part about him speeding up the process; he's proven numerous times that he values his own life less than others. It's his stubbornness that clearly makes it bollocks. No way would he give that power to a third party. He wanted to live. And that thought almost makes Ellie smile.

They're quiet for a while, the line so silent for a moment she thinks maybe the call was dropped. Ellie pulls the phone from her ear and sees the seconds turning into a minute and then on, still connected. She should come up with something to say, something clever. She's always been good with a swift comeback, but she's lost that skill all these months alone save for the company of her children. Now that muscle has atrophied and she finds herself at best dull, at worst brusque. So she stops floundering, waiting for him to interject. God knows what made her think Hardy was any more socially adequate that she, and finally asks, "Why are you calling?"

"I need to see you."

The words hang for a moment, her heart catching in a peculiar way. "Come ‘round, then."

"I'll be back in town tomorrow. Where are you staying?"

She gives him the address and he hangs up without another word.

* * *

She knows how she looks. Her clothes swallow her up and her eyes and cheeks are sunken, skin chalky white. Ellie tells herself it's just so he won't ask personal questions, but that isn't really why she pulls on that raspberry jumper, the one that hadn't fit since Fred was born but now does. She takes her time concealing the shadows under her eyes and tinting the apples of her cheeks a healthy, if obviously fake, rosy pink.

It's one o'clock when he knocks on the door.

He looks exactly the same, which is a surprise. She thought he'd look better. Apparently the sleepy, half-massed eyes and three day growth of beard had nothing to do with his health. He looks at her a long moment, her hand fidgeting on the doorknob, and his eyes lighten a fraction before he leans down and brushes a dry kiss quickly over her cheek.

Before leaving town, in those early days after Joe's confession, Hardy had been there possessing a level of unflinching understanding Ellie found nowhere else. He was the only person able to look directly into the eye of their family horror and not blink. He helped them. Now the result is some strange lingering intimacy she can't label and doesn't know what to do with.

What feels suspiciously like a smile tries pulling at her lips before dying away. "Come in."

The house is completely small. Small rooms, small windows, small doorways, like it was built for a hobbit. It's barely big enough for her, and Hardy has to duck his head slightly to step through the doorway into the sitting room. With the dining table and chairs pushed up against one wall, effectively taking up half the room, the only comfortable place to sit is the sofa. Ellie sits next to him there, her knee nearly touching his.

"How are you?" he asks.

There is an easy lie perched on her tongue, but try as she might she can't get it out of her mouth. Hardy is looking at her with keen eyes and genuine interest, so she tells him the truth. "Every day is just as bad as the last. And there is no end."

He nods imperceptibly, his face tight like this is what he expected her to say. Maybe he has come to expect even the most brutal truth to come from her.

"And work?" he asks. She is confident he must know the answer to this question already. It is no secret that she retired as soon as the paperwork could be processed.

"Officially retired. Living on that for now -- while I look for something else." Everyone within a hundred kilometers knows who she is. Her story is far more interesting than Joe's. Child killers and assumed pedophiles are a dime a dozen compared to a DS whose husband is the murderer she's been chasing. She is living a movie of the week. Makes it a bit difficult to apply for work when her photo's been on the cover of news magazines in every shop.

"The boys are well? Tom --"

"Just get on with it." She doesn't want to talk about her children, even with him, and as the moments slip by she is becoming ever more convinced this is not just a social visit. "Why are you here?"

He takes a deep breath and leans towards her. It is a move that reminds her horrifyingly of when he used her first name, gently, telling her her husband killed a boy. He's regarding her with what looks almost like tenderness, and Ellie cannot stand it, cannot accept such a gentle look when she can feel the bottom starting to slip out from under her. Again. "Jesus, Hardy, just say."

"There is going to be a civil case."

The words ring in her ears before the sound fades, going dull. It's like when you discharge a firearm, the shot bright and loud followed by the feeling of your ears being stuffed with cotton. "Okay," Ellie swallows and tries not to let the panic swelling in her chest get the better of her. "Okay, right. What--"

"Mark and Beth have contacted a solicitor who in turn has filed paperwork for financial compensation--"

"They want money?" Ellie shoots up, all the blood rushing dangerously out of her head. Her stomach is sick with the thought. How do they - how could _anyone_ begin to put a price on Danny's life? How much would ever be enough to salve that kind of loss?

Hardy is looking at her calmly, unflappable, and it makes her want to hit him. "They have been advised that, because of the association with the police force, there may be a - - payoff."

She paces in front of him, brow knitted. A payoff. "Because of me, you mean. They're suing the department because they think I covered it up." It isn't a question. She knows what people say - people who don't know her. There was always a part of Ellie that hoped Mark and Beth would never think that of her, never believe it.

"Ellie." She scowls at him for using that name, but when he tugs on her hand she comes, allows him to pull her back down next to him on the sofa. He doesn't let go of her hand.

"Okay." A civil case. She takes a deep breath. "What do we do?"

"There is no way that it will make it to trial. The department will want to settle out of court for a reduced sum in exchange for the Latimers’ silence and to keep it out of the press; it will cost less to settle than to defend it. In turn, the Latimers’ solicitor knows that they will never win if it makes it to court, so they will accept it. Then it's over."

Okay. No trial. Hardy's thumb rubs a circle along her knuckles. It's distracting. "What else?"

"There will be new depositions, but no testimonies in front of a judge. You are only involved in this as an accessory; the department is who they're going after. I'll -- I'm going to do everything in my power to keep Tom from having to be deposed."

"Tom." She can't seem to get enough air in her lungs. "Alec, he can't --"

"He won't have to. I'll make sure of it." It's naive, Ellie knows that if Tom is called there is nothing Alec can do, but his assurance makes her feel better, the flint in his brown eyes shining with certainty.

Thank God for this man. Never in a million years would Ellie have thought he would be a godsend, and how wrong was she.

"I'm glad you had the surgery."

He smiles wryly at her. "Eh. You won't be rid of me that easily."

A puff of air, something she once would have called a laugh, escapes her chest. "Good."

"I'll be in touch about everything," he says as he stands.

"Where are you staying?" She doesn't want him to go suddenly, even as she trails him to the door, and can't think of a reason why or how to get him to stay.

"Traders again, for now. We'll see."

"So you might stay on? In Broadchurch."

His features shade with that impenetrable detachment, the same look he always gets when he knows something but isn't telling, refusing to give anything away. "Right now my focus is just on the suit."

His fingers slip smoothly around her elbow and he kisses her other cheek. "I'll be in touch." Alec leaves her standing dumbly by the door, a feeling in her chest like a cold wind has just blown in.

* * *

 

** Chapter 2 **

Tuesday night Alec returns full of new information and an armload of papers. Ellie's been pacing in front of the door for the last hour, searching for the glare of Hardy's headlamps as he turns onto their street. She's breathless by the time she opens the door and ushers him in out of the cold. She casts a long glance up the stairwell as they go by, as if she could see through the walls and into her eldest son's bedroom. Tom's supposed to be doing homework; she hopes he is, but more than that she hopes he doesn't hear them, doesn't wonder or ask after it.

She's been tight-lipped about the civil case. Then, who does she really have to tell? There's always her sister, Lucy. But why start sharing now? Their relationship has improved loads in the last several months - better, but not miraculously mended. Ellie doesn't share her worries, not with anyone, not anymore, and Lucy will not be added to her list of confidants any time soon. Ellie fears that perhaps Olly knows about the case. He should, really. She's been closely eyeing every addition of The Echo waiting for the headline 'Murdered Boy's Family Seeks Compensation In Alleged Police Cover-Up.'

"How did it go?"

"Fine." He tugs at the scarf ‘round his neck and heads for the sitting room. The meeting had been at four o'clock. It couldn't have lasted four hours, could it?

Ellie follows closely behind. "What does fine mean? Did they accept the offer?"

"Not yet." Alec rubs his hands together before cupping them and blowing out a hot breath. "Gah, it's frigid in here. Put the kettle on, yeah?"

She glares at him but goes to the kitchen anyway. It goes against instinct, against her personal satisfaction as well, that she not take him down a notch for bossing her around - in her own bloody house at that! But she wants him to spill everything, all the details and what is hopefully good news, and that will happen more quickly if she just makes him a damn cuppa.

Hardy's made himself comfortable on the sofa by the time she comes back and accepts the mug with a muttered 'thanks'. Ellie pulls a chair from the table over in front of him, so she can face him squarely. "Well?"

Hardy pinches the bridge of his nose and sits forward so that they are inches apart. "They'll accept it. It's just going to take some - - finessing. A little more negotiation."

" _Finessing_? What the hell does that mean? You said the settlement was for nearly everything they wanted."

"The problem isn't with us. Beth wants --"

"Beth was there? You saw her?"

"Yes."

"How was she?" Alec's eyes startle on hers, surprise lifting his brows.

"Uhm, fine, I guess. Considering. Very pregnant."

She knew that, Olly told her. Said it was a boy. Ellie swallows down the sudden urge to cry. "Good."

"Beth is the one holding up the settlement."

"Why?"

"It was never said, directly, but I was given the impression that she and Mark want two different things. He and the attorney are looking for a settlement..." He pauses, clearly looking for the words.

She grits her teeth, "And?"

"Beth wants an admission of wrongdoing. From all parties."

"She wants me to say I covered it up."

"Yeah. And that the department covered up knowledge of your lying to protect Joe."

Ellie can feel the blood pounding in her fingertips, anger and hurt both, sneaking up her neck. "I won't do it. They can take me to fucking court."

"No. You won't do it and neither will the department. Settling is one thing, but admitting a cover-up that didn't happen is another. And it won't go to court; I'm still sure of it. They'll get Beth to back down. She's just - - distraught."

"Distraught..." Ellie mutters after him. Two weeks of depositions, of fearing what her friends - former friends - are hurt and willing enough to do to come after them in civil court, all boils over. The knowledge that more than anything Beth wants to force guilt on her, ( _How could you not know?_ ), is too much. Ellie shutters her hands over her eyes to block Hardy's view of the tears.

"Hey." He pulls on her arm, tugging her from the chair, her hands falling away as he manhandles her onto the couch. His hand works on her shoulder, rubbing, trying to calm her and stop the tears. It doesn't work and Ellie is genuinely surprised and grateful when he gives up and wraps his arm around her.

She falls into him gracelessly, both arms around his stomach and wet chin against his neck. "Come on," he chides, in a soft way that is not at all like a rebuke. His arm is tight around her shoulder, his hands gentling her.

It's too much and she can't even think of a way to explain it to him. This bone-tired hopelessness that she can do nothing in the face of but relent. His arm tightens around her, his lips muttering something she cannot hear into her hair. It's the first time in months that she has broken down in front of someone and been comforted. He was the last one to comfort her then, too.

As she lets whatever else may be left of her control and dignity go, tears falling hot down her face and then soaking into his shirt, she realizes it feels a lot like relief.

* * *

 Ellie shifts in the bed, fingers playing out across the misshapen pillow jammed under her head. She's a little too warm, her body heavy and immovable, and she's asleep again before she even has time to think about how strange it is that she can sleep.

* * *

 Ow. Her neck protests at her when she tries to lift her head, the muscles there like knotted rope. Ellie yawns, stretching a little as she wipes at her eyes, needing them to adjust to find the glow of the clock.

The realizations that she is in her sitting room and is lying on some _body_  come at the same moment.

She is prone perfectly on top of Alec Hardy, her head pillowed on his chest, legs tangled and his hands clasped at her back holding her to him. Ellie can feel the round imprint of his shirt button in her cheek.

Shit.

It wakes him up when she pushes against his chest in an attempt to get away, his hands skimming hotly down her sides. Shit. _Shit._

He blinks slowly and she scrambles up from the sofa, off of him. The sudden shift makes her realize her left leg from the knee down is completely numb. She shifts all her weight to the right, but is pinned there, retreat impossible unless she hops away.

Finally her eyes find the clock on the receiver under the TV. It's been six and a half hours. She's been asleep that entire time. How is that even possible?

"You're quite the snuggler." Alec's voice is gruff with sleep, tongue loosened to the point where his accent is the thickest she's heard. Was that a joke? Maybe he's sleep-talking.

"Time is it?" he asks.

"3:37."

He scrapes a hand down his face. "I'm off, then."

She is stuck in the way of any clear exit off the couch, her leg bum and screaming with pinprick pain as the blood comes rushing back. Hardy seems unfazed by her immovable state and uses her body as leverage to stand up, the heat from his palm burning into the fabric where he places it at her waist. He stands in front of her for a long moment, fingers still splayed along her ribs, his eyes glassy and unseeing. After a moment he tilts into her, presumably going for her cheek, and missing. He kisses the corner of her mouth soft and quick before staggering to the door.

"Night, Miller. See you tomorrow." He locks the door behind himself.

* * *

 Ellie doesn't close her eyes again the rest of the night. She lies in bed watching the sunrise slowly paint colors on her bedroom wall, covers pulled up to her neck. For the first time in months she doesn't feel tired at all.

* * *

 

** Chapter 3 **

It was a bad idea agreeing to meet him here. Ellie's already seen three familiar faces on her way into town, none of them acknowledging they saw her, and the urge to turn and flee is suffocating. She stops with her hand on the door, deciding, then sees him through the front glass, frowning and distorted. Ellie pulls herself together, face set and spine straight, and pushes into Traders.

Alec is sitting at a small table in the corner nursing a lager. A smattering of guests Ellie doesn't recognize populate the rest of the hotel bar and lounge area. He stands when she walks up to the table in a strangely polite display, remaining that way until she sits down.

"Uhm, would you like a drink?" He's already raising a hand flagging down Becca. Right.

"Yes. Please." Becca comes ‘round the table, an even, neutral smile on her lips. Such a pragmatist.

"Hello, - - " She flounders a moment, clearly looking for the right name to use. They aren't friendly enough for Ellie, and DS Miller is no longer accurate. She recovers quickly. "Would you like a lager too?"

"Gin and tonic for me, thanks." Ellie smiles brightly at her, saccharine sweet, the action taking all the muscles in her face. Hardy's face is obscured behind the beer glass, but she thinks he might be grinning at the exchange. Becca hastily makes her way back to the bar.

"So," Ellie pulls at the fingers of her gloves and places them on the table. "What's gone on with the suit?"

"Nothing. There's -- well, some progress. CS Jenkinson met with Mr. Wells, the Latimers' attorney, today to work out a few minor things. Paperwork, really. By all accounts we should have a settlement in days."

"Why'd you ask me here, then?"

Something like uncertainty flits across Hardy's face. "To have a drink. I thought that's what I said on the phone."

Ellie plays back this mornings conversation in her head. She was doing laundry when he called, her phone jammed between her ear and shoulder, Fred banging around in the other room. Honestly she doesn't remember what he said, just assumed.

"Right. Drinks. No, that's good. I just - - oh, good." Becca returns, placing a napkin and highball glass in front of her.

Ellie takes a long drink then notices Alec's waiting expression, his glass tilted towards her. "Yeah. Cheers." Their glasses clink.

In all the nights spent pouring over legal documents and forms, her in her jim-jams and practically pressed against him on the sofa, never has she felt awkward in his presence. Until now. The silence feels like some insurmountable thing. The clear memory of his body relaxed by sleep under hers and the knowledge of what his lips feel like, even briefly, making getting drinks rife with subtext she doesn't know how to navigate.

They remain quiet for a while, Ellie desperately thinking of small talk to ease the tension. Turns out when you've seen someone nearly die, and they have had to tell you your husband is a murderer, the list of small talk topics diminish greatly. Only the big things remain. There are, however, plenty of those.

"I read the article," she says. Alec's face hardens infinitesimally, his shoulders raising in defense. It doesn't stop Ellie from continuing on. "You did the right thing talking about it."

"There was nothing _right_  about what happened."

"No. But what you did was honorable. And stupid." He snorts at that. "Shouldn't let someone else's fuck up cost you your reputation."

"There were - - extenuating circumstances."

"She was your wife, I know."

Hardy's head whips up, eyes flashing. "How did you --"

"Olly told me."

"That fucking --"

"Now, it wasn't like that, calm down. I'm the only person he's told. He knew that it was important, and that you would never tell me. I'm glad he did."

Alec sighs shakily, and if she didn't know better Ellie would swear she can see the sheen of tears forming in his eyes. "There were a lot of . . . different factors. Just -- I don't want to talk about it, okay? Just leave it."

"Fine."

"Thank you."

"You know every single detail about my husband and the cock-up that is my life, but if you don't feel like sharing..."

"Ellie..." He's growling her name at her in that truly irritated way she's learned means she's right and he doesn't want to admit it.

"Kidding. It's fine. I'm only - well, mostly kidding."

"She broke my heart," he spits the words at her with quiet force. Ellie blinks at him, stunned.

"She took my child and turned her against me. The Sandbrook case. . . every bad thing that's happened --" he stops, choking on the words. For a moment it looks like one of his heart episodes like before, only this is a different matter of his heart.

"I --" He waves a hand in the air before him as if to erase the harsh words already spoken. "I can't lay all of the blame on her. I had my part in it."

"That's generous of you. Most men in your position would call her a bitch to anyone who'll listen."

"Yeah. And I can't stop trying to defend her." He chuckles mirthlessly, and continues, muttering to himself, "What kind of fool does that make me?"

"It makes you a good man." Ellie reaches her hand across the table to squeeze his tightly, needing to make him understand how much she believes this. "You are a good man, Alec."

He doesn't look at her, but he squeezes her hand back. She waits for him awhile, unsure if he's going to give more. Alec sighs, shoulders relaxing, and she thinks that is enough for now. She won't force him to share, she can do that in his place.

"I don't hate Joe," she admits it softly, fearing how it must sound.

"It's not a defense," she prefaces, needing to be sure he knows. "I hate everything he did. He's sick and I hope he rots in that cell." Ellie can feel the tears building in her eyes, and blinks hard, forcing them away, needing to be strong for this. "But he gave me my boys. And I can't hate him, not when I look at Fred and Tom."

Alec nods. "Quite right, too."

"Doesn't make me as crazy as him?"

"Nah. It means you love your kids. And at one point you loved the man Joe was. Nothing crazy about that."

It feels good to hear the words out loud, even if she isn't convinced it's true. Same goes for him. "Nothing crazy about wanting to protect the mother of your daughter."

He isn't convinced either and shrugs. "Maybe not."

Ellie takes a drink. The bubbles and gin tickle down her throat. Half a drink and it's already going to her head.

"Fine pair we are," he says, tipping up the last of his beer. He signals Becca for another one.

"Ha, yeah. Less Former Detectives Club, more Lonely Hearts." A smile pulls on her lips. What a depressing couple they make. Not couple. Couple of people. Two people. Shit. Why'd she have to think that?

Ellie starts to fidget. She's been wanting to say something the last few days, but her courage always seems to leave her when the time is right. The gin is giving her confidence now though, and there's no time like the present. "The other night, right, I should apologize for that."

She waits for him to wave a hand, cut her off, but instead he just looks at her with those cow eyes. Ellie continues, "Bad form falling asleep on your boss. Hope I didn't drool on you too badly." She can feel nervous laughter trying to bubble up and savagely pushes it down; once it starts it will never stop.

"Not your boss anymore."

"No, that's true. Guess we're both kind of at fault. I fell asleep on you, you kissed me. Tit for..." She didn't see Becca coming until she sets the glass on the table. She very carefully doesn't meet Ellie's eyes and walks away briskly.

Hardy's glaring at her, mouth gaped open. "What the hell are you on about?"

"What do you mean, what am I on about?" Ellie scoots up in her chair, indignation raising her hackles. Still, she lowers her voice. "You kissed me."

"I did no such thing." He's not looking at her, focused instead on the beer in front of him, the damp napkin it sits on ripping as he twists the glass. "When?"

"The other night. Well, morning, really, but, doesn't matter. Yes you did!"

He scoffs for a moment, face screwed up. "Your cheek maybe, Miller, but not --"

"You missed."

". . . Did I?"

She nods her head.

"Well." He's smiling slowly at her, in a way that is completely unfamiliar and somehow makes her think he's been egging her on a bit. "Serves you right. You fell asleep on me."

"That's what I said. Tit for tat."

"I don't remember any tit, either."

"You cheeky bugger." She throws her gloves at his head, but she's laughing.

* * *

 Ellie stops after the one gin and tonic, switching to soda water. Lucy would have her head if she showed up to relieve her babysitting favor tipsy. Hypocrite.

Alec has two more beers and is sober enough looking and sounding, but noticeably looser by the end of the night. Ellie, like a gentleman, walks him to his room.

"Thank you for the drink. It was good to get out," she says. The hallway is tinted with rosy light from the sconces, and that combined with the color brought out by the alcohol makes Hardy look healthier than she's seen him before.

He slides the key easily into the door and turns back to her. "'Course. That's what friends do. Apparently."  

She chortles at that. Friends. Guess they are. When did that happen?

"Goodnight, then." Ellie pushes on her toes, her cheek proffered in farewell.

Instead, he slides his mouth across hers, moist lips parted slightly and tasting of lager. She stands frozen on her tiptoes, surprised into paralysis. His beard, not unpleasantly, scratches her skin, and her mouth, solely of its own volition, opens under his.

She closes her eyes just as he pulls away.

"Do you want to come in?"

Does he realize it sounds like he's propositioning her? His hand is lightly drifting up her arm, Hardy's eyes clear and boring into hers, something unreadable written in them. Shit, _is_  he propositioning her?

"I gotta go. Lucy's watching the boys and I told her I'd be back by now."

"Right, of course. It was fun, Miller. See ya later." He smiles banally at her, no hint of disappointment or flirtation there, before he disappears into his room.

Ellie stands in the hall a moment before gathering her wits and leaving through the side door. It isn't until she's in the car, halfway home, that she realizes she didn't actually answer his question.

Did she want to go in?

* * *

 

**Chapter 4**

Hardy calls her Friday morning, two days after meeting for drinks at Traders, to tell her the paperwork has been filed. The civil case reached a settlement and is finished. It's over.

It's more of a relief than she had anticipated, the feeling of being let go of, shackles coming off, pouring from her. Her hands shake as she hangs up the phone.

Ellie invites Hardy, Olly and Lucy over Saturday night for what she is calling a ‘closure dinner,’ careful for avoid the word ‘celebration.’ Hardy shows up with wine, (no flowers and chocolate this time), and while she's in the kitchen finishing up the meal she overhears her three guests in the den making small talk even more awkward than she could have imagined.

There's an evil part of her that takes pleasure in their obvious discomfort, the way that these two sides of her life clash together so inelegantly. Her family and her... Hardy. Ellie lingers in the kitchen a while listening.

Dinner goes smoothly, if quiet. Everyone, Lucy included, taking their cues from Ellie. Hardy gives Olly a hard time whatever the topic of conversation, she thinks it is perhaps as payback for Olly spilling his secret. He is a sport about it and pretends not to notice.

Tom asks over dessert if he can spend the night at Olly's. Ellie shoots her nephew a look and it's clear he and Tom have already discussed this plan.

"I've got a new video game Tom was wanting to play. And, if it's alright with you, I'd take him to church with me in the morning." Olly's voice is gentle and it sounds rehearsed. Lucy had mentioned her son had been at church nearly every week since Jack Marshall died. Ellie never mentions it to him, but thinks maybe it's too late for penance.

Tom is looking at her with pleading, expectant eyes, like he believes she'll say no. "Can I, Mum?"

She does want to say no, she can feel it on the tip of her tongue. She wants to protect her son from whatever whispers and looks and pity might be waiting for him, but Ellie nods. "'Course. If Olly really doesn't mind."

"Nah." Olly says, smiling. Tom stuffs the rest of his pudding in his mouth all in one giant spoonful and then bounds up the stairs to pack a case.

By half eight everyone has left but Hardy. He begins stacking plates and taking them to the kitchenette while she wipes down Fred, the child impossibly sticky from playing in his food. "You don't have to do that, I can get them," Ellie says when he comes back in.

"Nah, looks like you've got your hands full there." Hardy nods towards Fred.

Even with all his mother’s vigorous scrubbing, Fred is falling asleep. His toddler head, nearly as big as the rest of his body, is lolling around as he nods off only to jerk himself awake again. It is adorable and Ellie can't help herself laughing at him.

"Come on then, you." She pulls him from his highchair then mounts the stairs to put him to bed.

* * *

When she comes back downstairs she finds Hardy washing the dishes, the cuffs of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. With his back to her, Ellie stands watching for a moment, an odd kind of familiarity washing over her. It's pleasant having someone else there, helping with the washing up.

"You gonna help me, or just watch?"

Ellie rolls her eyes and picks up the dishtowel. "Alright, stop complaining. You volunteered, you know."

He hands her a dripping plate and she swipes at it with the terrycloth.

"That boy of yours looked like he was about to fall out of his highchair, dropped like a stone. You're damn lucky to have a toddler who sleeps that well." Something wistful clouds his face, and Ellie wonders again about his daughter. He doesn't talk about her, never mentioning what goes on in her life or if he sees her. There's a tragic air about him the few times she's been mentioned, a hurt look that almost reminds her of Beth Latimar's face.

"Fred, ah he's a good baby. Has always been easy. I envy how easily he can sleep. He's nothing like his older brother. Tom cried like clockwork at three in the morning, every morning for two years. I was convinced he was sick or something. Had him to every doctor I could find. Just a fussy baby was all."

Ellie places the short stack of plates in the cupboard and goes back, reaching for the stock pot Alec hands her.

"You don't sleep."

He doesn't really ask her, more of a statement, really. Does she look that badly? Are her eyebags telling all her secrets?

"No. I don't sleep. Not since -- no."

"Pills might help."

"Oh, I've tried. Everything that can be tried. Doesn't work. Never sleep for more than an hour at a time."

"You did the other night. With me."

He's focused on scrubbing the bits from the roast pan. Carefully not looking at her, she thinks.

"Yeah." Ellie clears her throat. There's a blush creeping up her neck, she can feel it burning her ears, and she's glad he's not looking at her. "That was the first time in months."

He nods and silently hands her the pan.

They have a good rhythm and are quiet the remainder of the time it takes them to finish.

There's a small amount of wine left in the bottle and she extends it in offering to him as he washes out the basin. He shakes his head and Ellie pours the remnants in her glass. Hardy has decent taste in wine. Now any color still staining her cheeks she can blame on the alcohol.

"Listen," he says, drawing the word out. He's propped back against the sink as he turns towards her, dishcloth in his hands, the hesitant tone in his voice drawing her attention. "I was pissed the other night."

She shakes her head vigorously, trying to stop whatever else he is going to say. She doesn't want him to take it back, some needy part of her she's not proud of wanting to be wanted, even if it is completely mad that the attention is coming from Alec Hardy, of all people. "You don't have to --"

"It isn't how I meant that to go or why I invited you. And I don't want you to think --"

"Don't be daft." She cuts him off, her voice sharper than she means it. "I haven't given it another thought." She wonders if he can tell that she's lying. She thinks about it, a fission of unauthorized pleasure running through her every time. How surprising his lips were, the angle of her head as she tilted up to him so different to what she'd been used to. She knows she shouldn't, but she compares him to Joe. In all the many ways that they differ Ellie finds him that much more surprisingly attractive.

"Right." He blinks, his eyes darting down to the floor, and for only a moment he looks like that may not have been the response he had hoped for. He looks up again and all trace of that, if it was really there, is gone. "Course not."

They stand looking at each other in silence for a long moment. "I should go."

She follows after him as he heads through the house to the front door, and she says, "You can stay for a while, if you want. It's early yet."

He doesn't say no, only shakes his head and rolls his sleeves down and shrugs on his coat. With the civil case over she doesn't know when she'll see him again, or if he's even staying in town. She reaches her hand around the crook of his elbow to stop him, her body angled in front of the door, blocking his escape.

"When --" The word dies on her lips. She wants to ask when she'll see him again, but it sounds like too much in her head. "What are your plans? Now that the case is over, are you staying?"

Hardy stares down at her a long time, his face unreadable, and she wonders what the words are she can see him weighting in his head. How much does he want to give? "I'm staying. CS Jenkinson offered me my position back and I've decided to stay on."

Ellie takes a deep breath. "Good. I'm glad."

"Are you?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno. I thought maybe - - I don't know." Does he think she wants him to leave Broadchurch again? Like his presence is a reminder of what happened? She has plenty of those, doesn't need to use him as a talisman. "Do you miss it?"

His question surprises her; she wasn't thinking about the job. "Yes. Sometimes." Ellie sighs and lets go of his arm, takes a small step back.

"I enjoyed the job. It felt like making a difference. Being a part of something. There was a time I thought I was good at it."

"You are good at it."

She shoots a look at him but he doesn't take his comment back.

"What would you think about returning?"

"No." She can feel anxiety creeping up her spine thinking about it. "I can't come back."

"You could, there's a position --"

"I don't _want_  to come back," she cuts him off.

"Fine." He shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his trench coat. "As long as you understand that this is your choice; everyone in that department knows what a good copper you are."

She nods. And she does believe him, somewhat. Even still, she doesn't trust herself. She will never go back to that.

"I've been thinking about nursing. There's enough of my pension to live on while I go through school. It would still be helping people." He's quiet and she wants to fill in the silence. "Just a thought. I haven't made any decision." Is it weird that she wants him to approve of whatever she chooses?

"You'd make a good nurse. Very compassionate. And not afraid to threaten bodily harm if someone doesn't follow orders." He smiles at her and it starts to ease something tightly wound around her chest.

"So. You're staying. Hope that means you're finally going to find a place to live besides Traders."

"Yeah," he scratches a hand in his hair. "I suppose I should."

"I can give you the name of my agent. She found this place." It's not the greatest, the draft coming from the front door making its own point. But it is cheap.

"That'd be good. And I'd appreciate your input, if you don't mind looking at places with me."

Oh. She could do that. Ellie can already think of a few places for let near the station house that might work for him, budget permitting.

"Dinner was good. Thanks for it." Ellie moves beyond the door, just enough for him to squeeze out past her. "Night."

Alec slips out the door and is gone into the dark.

He doesn't kiss her cheek.

She notices.

* * *

 

** Chapter 5 **

Early in the night Ellie nods off in the chair in Fred's nursery while she watches her son sleep, then wakes with a start, something intangible clawing at her subconscious.

She wishes Tom were here. In his absence she wanders into his room and cleans it, taking her time with all of his things. It looks like the room inhabited by a perfectly normal twelve year old. Nothing amiss, nothing hiding right below the surface that makes her feel like she should worry about his happiness or state of mind. He hides his sadness better than she does, but she knows it's there, a living breathing thing worming its fingers into her son's life. It's too much for a child to have to carry. Tom puts on a stoic face for her, never betraying anything, his emotions closely held, his thoughts a mystery Ellie has to pull out of him. He doesn't share, and that is so like his father that it scares her.

After a glass of brandy drunk while searching the web for flat rentals, she feels like maybe she can sleep. She slides between the cold sheets and lies there, the moonlight casting shadows in her room.

Ellie doesn't sleep and that doesn't surprise her anymore. She closes her eyes tightly, breathing deeply and counting the seconds as they tick by.

* * *

 She rolls over and can feel his imprint there in bed, her arm snaking out around him, curling in closer. She can feel his breath tickling her hair when he exhales, tucked safely under his chin. It's warm where he touches her, the heat of him seeping into her skin, her toes thawing where they're pressed into his calf. If only he would hold her a little bit tighter, draw her a little closer, she thinks she could sleep.

* * *

Fred's crying wakes her up and Ellie staggers gracelessly out of bed, the rug cold beneath her bare feet.

With her son in her arms, rocking him in the chair by his crib as he babbles, she notices the time.

It's 7:30 and there is sunlight streaming through the blinds. And she thinks, with a clarity that is slipping moment by moment through her fingers, that she dreamed about Alec Hardy sharing her bed.

* * *

 The sun is deceiving. It is shining so brightly, gleaming off every surface, that it makes the frigid air outside look almost enjoyable. That is from the comfort of a heated car.

Once outside, the wind whipping as Ellie tries to maneuver Fred into his pushchair, the illusion of warmth is shattered.

She had to park a few blocks away from Olly's flat, and now walks up the steep sidewalk leading to her nephew's building. It's a shitty little flat on the third floor, perfect for a bachelor. She's glad that Luce has gotten her life together, finally, enough for her nephew to strike out on his own. She texts him when she gets there to send Tom down; she's not carrying Fred up three flights of stairs. Maybe she should have taken Olly up on his offer to drive Tom home.

Ellie pockets her phone once she gets a reply and inches closer to the building to block the wind, and wonders how she can subtly ask her son how things went at church. Is there a way to phrase "did anyone make you feel less welcome because of your murdering, borderline pedophile of a father?" that doesn't make the boy self-conscious?

She is so wrapped up in that question that she doesn't notice Elaine Jenkinson gliding quickly towards her from across the road, her shaggy wool coat flapping in the wind, until she's nearly reached her.

Shit. Shit, shit, shitting, shit. She turns, looking for any kind of quick escape. Like perhaps the ground opening and swallowing her up.

"Ellie," Elaine is breathing hard, her exhalations coming out in white billows. "I'm so glad I spotted you."

Ellie nods towards her in greeting, her tongue glued to the inside of her mouth.

"I've been meaning to call you."

Oh, shit. The bottom falls out of Ellie's stomach. Alec said that the civil case was over, but what it isn't, or what if Joe --

"I know you must be relieved that the civil case has ended."

"Yes," Ellie gasps. At least it's not that.

"Well, I didn't know if I should call you, or if you --"

"Oh, whatever it is just tell me." She doesn't mean to snap, honestly.

"I..." Elaine smooths her coat. "I told DI Hardy I would let him broach the subject, but..." Oh, for God's sake. Ellie wants to shake her. "You are still welcome within the Wessex Police Service. And I know your misgivings, but we would be happy to have you back. In any capacity you feel most comfortable, of course."

"Honestly," she mutters. It's just about her bloody job?

"Yes. There is a place for you if you want it." Elaine smiles, and Ellie is equal parts relieved and annoyed. She should be grateful, really, that even two people want her back there. But mainly it is just a reminder of the life she used to have. The one she thought was good and made a difference and helped people, a life that she used to think people should be envious of. That’s all gone now. Instead of grateful it makes her feel only bitterness.

"Thank you, CS Jenkinson. It is very kind of you. No. I won't be returning."

"Alec said you'd say that. It is a pity."

"Least you were able to talk one of us into coming back." Ellie can see Elaine's husband across the road, shopping in hand waiting for his wife to finish. That makes her feel bitter too.

"Oh, well, I'd love to take credit for that. But as you well know, DI Hardy does only as he pleases." She looks knowingly at Ellie, like they're in on the same joke. "There's no changing his mind once it's set on something."

"Right." He is the most obstinate man Ellie's ever known. Which means, "You didn't convince him to continue on, then?"

"No, no. He called - three or four months ago, I guess it was, said he wanted to come back to Broadchurch. Even agreed to the surgery when I told him that was the only way. Like I said, when he sets his mind..."  

That bloody liar.

"Well..." Elaine is looking at her carefully, the anger Ellie feels clearly apparent on her face. "I should go. If you change your mind..." She clasps her upper arm, and it's the closest CS Jenkinson has ever gotten to a hug, and Ellie can't find it within herself to try and wipe away the pinched look as Elaine strides quickly away.

* * *

 

** Chapter 6 **

There is no reason she can think of why he would lie to her. It's such a stupid thing. What does she care if he asked to come back four months ago or if CS Jenkinson twisted his arm?

Ellie tries being rational. He doesn't owe her anything. She doesn't even know what they are. Former colleagues? Damaged acquaintances who can't seem to shake the other's company? Friends? More than?

Whatever they are, rational or not, it cuts deeper than she would like to admit that he lied. There is so little of her self-respect left, any confidence in being a good judge of character long shattered. There are so few people in her life she still trusts - none, if she's being truly honest with herself - except for Hardy.

_You can never really know what is going on in someone else's heart._ Hardy was too right about that. She doesn't even know what is going on in her own.

* * *

He texts a week later, on a cold Tuesday, with an address in town and the words: _M_ ** _eet me there._**

 It's a first floor flat in an old building a block off the High Street. Ellie abandons the stroller in the vestibule and totes Fred on her hip up the narrow steps.

Alec and Cheryl, the estate agent, are already inside. Wood polish and a long closed-up smell are thick in the place, dust motes hanging dense in the light. Ellie makes a quick scan of the room for hazards then sets Fred down, the child tottering off towards the front window.

"What do you think?" Hardy asks.

The coffered beam ceiling and old floral wallpaper with navy background overwhelm the room, making even the high ceiling look low. "It's a bit dark."

"I can talk the owner into supplying the paint if you'd be willing to do the labor." Cheryl pipes up.

They walk through the rest of the unit looking at the cheap kitchen redo with white laminate cabinets, the nicely updated bathroom, and two small bedrooms. The agent does a good job talking up the good points of the flat while diminishing any faults.

"I'll let you two talk for a moment," Cheryl says before slipping out into the hallway.

Something in Ellie wants to protest to her before she leaves, insist that she doesn't have any say in this decision. The way Alec is looking expectantly at her would seem to imply otherwise.

"It's a good rate and close enough to everything. Not so much to look at, but maybe with a coat of paint..." He flicks a finger at where the wallpaper is peeling above the wainscoting.

"You're uncharacteristically quiet, Miller," he huffs. "Do you hate it?"

"Why did you lie to me?" The words fly out of Ellie's mouth completely unauthorized.

"What?"

Fred bangs his open hand on the window, the glass making a gritty sound.

"About coming back here," Ellie sighs, shifting on her feet. She hadn't planned on bringing up, but now that she has the irritation washes back over her, unreasonable anger pricking her skin. "I talked to Jenkinson and she told me about you asking months ago to come back. She said it's why you had the surgery."

He's looking at her blandly, like maybe she's crazy, and it sends her.

"What the fuck, Hardy? Either tell me why you felt the need to keep me in the dark, or tell me to piss off, one."

"What does it matter? It doesn't have anything to do with you."

"No. You're right. Piss off it is then." Ellie scoops Fred up and strides hastily to the door. She's done with Alec Hardy seeing her cry.

"Ellie --" She pushes past him and into the hall, Cheryl giving her a surprised look as she goes down the stairs.

"Ellie!" he calls after her, his voice tight with anger.

She doesn't stop, not even pausing to place Fred in his pushchair, just dragging it behind her to her car.

Maybe she should, but she doesn't feel foolish or triumphant. Ellie only feels cold.

* * *

 When she doesn't answer his calls, he texts her:  ** _I don't want you to piss off. Let me explain?_**

She waits two days to reply.

* * *

 

**Chapter 7**

Alec is waiting for her on the bench when she gets there, his shoulders slumped, hands clasped in front of him, the sea spanning blue and endless behind him. It's the same bench they sat on the night of Danny Latimar's memorial. Ellie thinks he picked this spot on purpose to remind her.

It works. As her steps carry her closer Ellie softens, just slightly, remembering that he was there with her that night. He was the only one there.

He looks up at her as she passes in front of him and then sits an arms-length away. Alec's eyes are sliced with light making them the color of weak tea, his nose and ears pale pink in the cold. "Thank you for meeting me."

Ellie shrugs and folds her arms tight across her chest. "Well? You said you wanted to explain... Go on."

Alec shifts and wipes his palms down the tops of his trouser legs. "I --" he stops and clears his throat. "It wasn't my intention to lie to you or break your trust."

"Well you did," Ellie says, going for cheek but sounding more like a wounded child.

"I know. I'm sorry I did." He sniffs, one side of his face twitching, before he draws silent.

For as long as she can stand it, Ellie doesn't break the silence. She waits for him to finish, to actually explain anything, and when he makes it clear there is nothing more coming, she snaps.

"That's it? Shouldn't’ve lied, sorry? My twelve year old can come up with a more articulate apology than that!"

"What more do you want me to say, Miller? I am sorry! Is that not enough?"

"You - eerrrr!" Ellie grunts and pushes the flat of her hand against her forehead to keep from reaching out to throttle him. She's going to kill this bloody man. "No. It's not enough."

"What, then?"

Ellie grits her teeth and tries taking a deep breath. She doesn't want to have to explain this to him, to point out what she wants him to just understand. "I need to know why. Make me understand why you lied and make it good. Or else I --" Ellie swallows around the words lodged thick in her throat. "Or that's it, Hardy. I don't need another person in my life that lies to me. I have to know that I can trust you."

"Right." Alec nods brusquely in a way that makes Ellie think maybe he understands why this is so bad. And why she needs him so badly to redeem himself. She needs him.

"Uhm, I didn't tell you that I asked to come back because of several - - personal reasons. That I don't want to talk about. Okay?"

"Fine," she says, pushing off on the bench. She's done. Alec grabs her wrist as she stands to go, his evasion not good enough.

He pulls her down closer to him on the bench, his fingers surprisingly warm and clammy against her skin. "I'll tell you - all of it. Just stay."

He draws a shaky breath, and for the first time in forcing his absolution, she thinks maybe she doesn't really want to know. "You know I went back to Glasgow when I left here. First time I'd been back in almost twenty years. It --" He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "It wasn't what I thought it would be."

Alec twists on the bench, drawing his knee up onto the seat next between them, unease rolling off him, his eyes focused on the beach below. "Go on," Ellie prods gently.

"Retirement is shit, Miller. I don't know how you stand it."

She huffs a laugh at that but can't comment on it. She doesn't know how she stands anything.

"Every day was more boring and gruesome than the last, just filled with. . . ghosts" Alec growls, a low rumble that raises the hairs on her arms. "I had all day, every day, to think of the people I've failed. People I've cared about. I was sitting in a shitty extended stay in a city that wasn't home, not anymore, and waiting to die. And that part didn't even matter. Because it already felt like it was done. My life, everyone I've ever known, was already past tense. I was already dead, my body just hadn't caught up yet."

Ellie nods. He's not looking at her so she reaches out, her fingers sliding over his knee. The setting March sun is warm on her back and yet she's still feels cold.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you." Alec still doesn't look at her, his words washing away on the wind, out to sea.

"You what?"

He turns to look her in the eye. "I don't know why, but I needed to be back here."

Ellie can feel her fingers tremble on his knee. She'll blame it on the chill. Alec covers her hand with his and it helps. "I thought about you, couldn't keep from it. You were the only person that still seemed present. And sometimes, days when I forced myself to think of something else, I'd - - I kept having these dreams. About you. Or you and Joe..."

His voice is haunted, eyes glassy, and she thinks maybe he's had the nightmares she's been spared in her insomnia. A shiver runs through her, all the things she fears and never articulates written on his face. His fingers tighten around hers.

"I couldn't stay there anymore. Either I risked the surgery and tried, or - I don't know what. Do everything I could to speed up the process, I guess; it wouldn't have taken long. Jenkinson said she'd give me my old job back if I passed my health screening and I called the doctor the next day."

"Okay." Ellie swallows. The picture of his misery is so clear in her mind. "That sounds terrible. I'm glad you made the decision that you did, that you're better." He tilts his head forward and back, a nod that is made of gratitude. Ellie can't help but imagine how this all could have ended differently. No phone call from him asking to see her and in its stead a line in the Echo about his untimely death.

"What I don't understand is why you didn't just tell me you requested the reinstatement when I asked you?"

"I was afraid you'd ask questions, that you'd think I was coming back because of you. It was easier to lie."

Ellie's heart is beating a little too fast, blood rushing in her ears. "Did you come back because of me?"

Hardy looks at her for a long moment before responding. "Yeah. I did."

A strangled sound escapes her before she's able to stifle it, some kind of half demented laugh. She presses her fingertips to her mouth. He came back because of her. " _Why?_ "

He's looking at her like she's crazy, maybe even offended for her, but slowly he smiles. "Search me. You're apparently impossible to forget, Miller, and it's really bloody annoying."

Ellie shakes her head, the preposterousness of it too much. There are so many different implications she doesn't know where to start first, except, "I'm glad you did. That you came back." She adds the words 'for me' in her head.

"Yeah?" he rubs her hand. "Are we okay then?"

"’Course we are," she says with a nod. "But if you lie to me ever again I'll have your balls for earrings. Understand?"

"Oh yeah." He smiles, a crooked thing that doesn't quite fit his face, his eyes large and looking down at her expectantly, like he's waiting for a shoe to drop. Like he's waiting for her to continue with a gentle let down or a brush off.

He'll wait forever if he thinks it will come from her. There is a wild amount of gratitude filling her chest, something very much like affection. It's been emotionally draining going through the civil suit, the details it dredged up painful, but the last few weeks that Hardy's been back in town have been the happiest Ellie has known since her world was ripped apart. And it's him. It's having a friend again, someone who she trusts and doesn't have to pretend for, the stress of pretense gone.  

He should know that so Ellie slips her hand from his, Alec's smile falling just for a moment before she leans forward and wraps her arms around his shoulders pulling his body down into hers. It takes him a moment, then he slips his arms around her sides, his hands spanning her back pulling her tight, Ellie's cheek snug against his shoulder.

They remain that way for a while. She thinks maybe she should let go, but the comfort is too nice, the smell of his soap and skin and the cold intoxicating.

The wind has picked up and she feels it acutely when they separate. It blows off the sea like whiplash, the force sending Ellie's short hair flying, and it’s just long enough to get in her eyes. She blinks furiously, momentarily blinded, and Alec reaches out trying to pluck the strands away with no success. She's laughing, eyes closed, and wondering if there's a bobby pin long abandoned in her coat pocket she can use when he runs his hand along the side of her face, his palm trapping the hair down, fingers twining in the ringlets.

Ellie opens her eyes to find him right there, his face no more than an inch from hers. It would be so easy to kiss him, she thinks. All she would have to do is close her eyes again and lean into his hand and he would do the rest. She already knows what that would feel like and it is so tempting. Alec's looking at her in a way that is innately familiar, just never from him. His gaze flicks down to her mouth, his fingers flexing, pulling her infinitesimally closer. The tip of his nose brushes her cheek and she can feel his breath on her lips. He's waiting for her to come the rest of the way.

Ellie closes her eyes. And pulls away. Her heart is pounding, palms sweating, and she _wants_  to kiss him. But she can't. She doesn't want to investigate the reasons why.

Once she's gathered the courage to open her eyes she finds Alec looking at her keenly with half-massed eyes and no hint of annoyance. His fingers are still in her hair. "I've seen three other flats since Tuesday and am thoroughly confused. Will you look at the others with me?"

Ellie exhales, not even realizing she was holding her breath, and is grateful for the out. "Yeah. Anytime during the day when Tom's in school."

They linger for a moment, his thumb brushing her cheek, so many things sitting between them left unsaid. It will keep for another time, another windswept day when maybe both their hearts aren't so exposed, everything so easily damaged. Finally they stand and walk down the hill back to their cars.

He holds her hand the whole way.

And she lets him.

* * *

 

**Chapter 8**

There's a water spot on the ceiling over her bed. Ellie stares at it, her eyes refusing to close. There's something like excitement mixed with indignation running through her veins, a pounding irritation in the corners of her mind.

He came back for her.

What the fuck does she do with that?

The prospect of interest from any man right now is weird and she can't quite place why that is. She didn't do anything wrong, wasn't the dysfunctional one in her marriage. It shouldn't feel like cheating.

Weirder still is the fact that she's lying in bed thinking about how close she came to kissing Hardy. And how she wishes she'd just done it. The moment replaying itself in her head with a different outcome. An outcome that involved his tongue in her mouth.

_Hardy._

She used to loathe the man. _Used_  to. Now? Ugh. He frustrates her, has an ability to irritate her beyond reason. She can't stop thinking about him. And his mouth.

Ellie flops over in bed, needing to blot out the stain on her ceiling. She squeezes her eyes shut tight and tries not to feel guilty that when she does it's his face she sees. The one she thinks about until she falls asleep, imagining his arms around her.

* * *

After looking at all the options and Ellie giving her honest opinion, Alec signs a lease for the first place they looked at, the dark flat in town, on Wednesday. By Friday it is ready for him to start moving in. Moving day is when Ellie realizes that the man does not actually own a single thing.

Everything he has fits in two medium sized cases.

"Blimey, is that it?"

Hardy looks down at the cases he's just carried up the stairs and into the den, a frown creasing his brow like it never occurred to him that a man in his forties should have more possessions than that. "What?"

Fred rushes past her going for the door and Alec stops him with a quick shift of his legs, moving just in time to stop the child from running out then closing the door. Fred is unperturbed and begins banging on the cases instead.

"Just," Ellie shakes her head trying to censor her tongue. "You're going to need..." she waves her hand around the empty room. "Well, everything."

"Yeah," he runs his hand through his messy mop of thick ginger-brown hair. "I hadn't really thought about all that. Haven't had a permanent place since... She kept everything."

Ellie nods sympathetically. She's lost so much with Joe, but at least she didn't lose all of her possessions too. Or her children.

"When's the last time you talked to your daughter?" The swift change in conversation makes him gape and blink, before finally leveling her with that incredulous stare. It's a touchy subject, she understands. Perhaps now isn’t the time. "Sorry. You don't have to talk about it."

"Wait." Hardy grabs her wrist as she walks past him toward the kitchen. "I don't like to talk about her, well, not her - the situation." He growls a moment, frustrated by not finding the right words, his hand slipping down to clasp hers. "Four months ago. She called right after I'd gotten out of the hospital. She hasn't answered my calls since."

"I'm sorry," she says softly.

"She'll be sixteen in two and a half months. It doesn't seem possible. Time just..." he shakes his head and sighs. "I don't know what else to do. To say."

"You tell her you love her and want to be a part of her life?"

"Yeah. Every voicemail," he scoffs.

"Then that's all you can do. Just keep doing it. Keep reminding her you're there and you want her."

He lowers his head a little, shoulders drooping, his hand warm and strong around hers, thumb sweeping across the thin bones in her wrist. "I - I'll talk to you about it, about everything. It's that I'm not used to it. To talking about things. Don't stop asking. Yeah?"

"Yeah, okay." She jiggles his hand, squeezing before letting go. "Now, furniture."

"Right," he claps his hands together. "I'll let you be in charge of that. I'm going to start stripping wallpaper."

"Wait. Me? What am I supposed to do?"

"Order something. Everything. Oh, except not a kitchen table, the owner left one. But chairs, it needs chairs." He feels around the pockets of his trousers, blue jeans to work in, and pulls out his wallet. "Here." He hands her his credit card.

"But," Ellie trails off, shaking her head. Is he completely mental? "I don't have a clue about what you'd pick out or even how much to spend!"

"Just get everything you think I need and pick what you'd get; your house looks fine. Oh, and don't go nuts or anything, but there's a 25,000 pound limit on that card." He turns his back to her, jamming the spackle knife in his hand under a strip of hideous wallpaper, tearing it up.

Ellie blinks at him, card stuck in her hand and no possible retort.

All right, then.

* * *

Three hours later Ellie returns to the flat, worn out toddler in tow, with a receipt as long as her arm for nearly eleven thousand pounds, a stack of color print-outs of everything she purchased, just so he'll know, a box brought back from her house, and a sack of sandwiches hastily purchased from a shop.

Other than the lengthy explanation of who Mr. Alec Hardy is and why she should be allowed to use his credit card - ( _it's not fraud, promise_ ) - it was one of the easiest shopping trips of her life. Amazing how effortless it is spending other people's money. And she was assured by the saleswoman that he had until in the morning to cancel the order, just as long as it's before everything ships (expedited) from the warehouse. She thinks she did a good job, too. She's excited to show him everything.

Ellie's surprised when she walks in the door to see all of the wallpaper stripped off the den walls and sanding almost finished.

Alec smiles at her proudly, plaster dust clinging to his hair making him look like he grayed twenty years in the last three hours. "I've been busy!" he crows.

"So have I. I was thinking the crystal chandelier I bought - well, that **you** bought - would look lovely over your breakfast table, but I don't know where you should hang the Lichtenstein... Opposite the fireplace, maybe."

"Very funny, Miller," he smirks at her.

"I thought so." She smirks back.

"Here." He reaches for the box curled under her arm, but she hands him Fred instead. The boy goes to him without protest, his sleepy head falling against Alec's shoulder, fist mashed into his eye. Ellie's glad she already fed him lunch on the go. He'll be asleep in minutes.

Ellie catches the soft way Hardy looks down at the boy as she turns and heads for the kitchen. She isn't testing him with her child. He's standoffish at best with adults, children even more so, and she wants him to understand he doesn't have to be like that with her or her family. She does trust him, still.

He follows her as she begins unpacking the box, pulling out the sandwiches and stacks of papers. "So what did you get?" he asks.

"One with prawn and one with cheese and rocket. Didn't know which you'd prefer."

"No, at the furniture store." He's bouncing the tiniest amount, Fred, mouth open and drooling into Alec's shirt, already dropped off to sleep. Ellie doesn't think he realizes that he's doing it, the bouncing, and tries to bite back the smile curling at her lips.

"Right, the furniture store. I've got print outs of everything. I'll show you as soon as I put him down," she nods to the baby.

"No," he mutters, voice lowered. "I've got him. Be back."

Alec disappears out the door and Ellie wonders where he's going to put him down to sleep in the barren flat. She hears rustling on the other side of the wall and goes back to the box in front of her.

For the hundredth time she pushes down the feeling of ridiculousness gnawing in her stomach about the contents of the box from home. Well, it is silly, everything she collected. A housewarming gift of sorts. It just seemed wrong somehow him having nothing at all. Even when his furniture arrives, Ellie can't imagine him having nothing that has a story or some emotional connection behind it. It's so clinical. Might as well still be living in a hotel. So that's what Ellie tried to give him. Meaning.

He rounds the corner silently and Ellie jumps, lost in thought. She abandons the box, she'll do that later, and grabs the bag of sandwiches and bottled water. Ellie sits down on the kitchen table that was left there, pushed against the wall under a window. It's the only place to sit. Alec follows suit and when offered chooses the prawn sandwich out of her hand. Good. She wanted the cheese one.

They stay quiet for a while, a little dance of one handing out napkins, the other passing a bottle of water.  She's hungrier than she thought and goes after her lunch with gusto, Alec's arm occasionally brushing hers when he moves. It's content and everything cinched tightly in her starts to loosen, all the fear about her overly sentimental gift easing. They are easy. Together.

Halfway through her lunch, Ellie grabs the stack of papers off the table next to her, eager to finally show him everything she bought.

There are four painted chairs for the kitchen table. A bed frame and mattress for his bedroom, plus a dark wooden cabinet that can double as storage and a nightstand, and a matching wardrobe. Linens for the bed, bathroom and kitchen, gray and white, since Ellie knows that he's picked out a chalky gray for the living room walls. She bought a minimal amount of kitchen things. Everything basic he'll need to cook for himself, but omitting large place settings or specialty tools.

The living room is her favorite and Ellie saves that for last, her eyes training on him as she shows him the pictures. With the dark and beautiful wood wainscoting, built-ins and coffered ceiling, she thought something more modern, a sleeker touch would be good. So there's the squared-off black leather sofa and matching armchair, a glass and steel end table and coffee table, two clear acrylic lamps and a high-pile rug in an abstract design full of pale blues, gray, black and white.

She's nervous as she shows him how she thinks it will go together, the old and new complimenting instead of fighting each other. It doesn't take long for a reaction, his head bobbing as she talks.

"It's great, Miller, really. It's going to be a proper man's flat. Good work."

She's smiling and trying not to flat out grin at him. She did well, if she does say herself.

They finish their lunch in the same silence it started in, but now Ellie has to mold her smile around the bread every bite.

She's shoving the refuse in the bag from the shop when he nearly whispers, mouth surprisingly close to her ear, "So what's in the box?"

Ellie thinks about hesitating, putting it off just a little longer until it feels less like a bad idea. She turns towards him to say exactly that, but he's standing inches away from her, shoulder relaxed, regarding her with an even look and a glint in his eye. And she doesn't want to put it off anymore. It's a good idea.

"Well," she starts. "There is only so much a store can sell you. Furniture and things, sure, but not history. It didn't seem right to fill this place with only brand new things. So," she gestures to the box, horrified to see her fingers shaking slightly. "Open it."

It isn't very full. There were only so many meaningful things she thought to grab in a quick run through her house. It's enough to get the point across though.

Alec takes the plates and cup and bowl out first, wrapped in the glossy pages of a three month old magazine. It's a full place setting, dinner and salad plate, cup and saucer, and bowl, none of which matches. He raises a brow to her once he has it all unwrapped and sitting neatly on the counter.

"My grandmother, my dad's mum, she loved estate sales. She'd go every weekend with friends. Anyway, she loved buying all this china and things, but eventually she ran out of room. Every cupboard in her house was just filled to the brim. So she started giving it away. To the kids, grandkids, mail carrier, whoever would take it. By the time I got married I had enough place-settings to seat twenty-two for dinner. And not a single one was alike." Ellie's smiling at the memory, her Granny so proud to pass these second-hand treasures down.

"They look ridiculous together, I know, but I grew to kind of like them all mismatched. The blue willow and the tea roses and the herring bone, all mixed together."

He opens his mouth to say something, a 'thank you' Ellie thinks maybe, but she doesn't want to slow down, to have to acknowledge each thing in the box, so she cuts him off before he can start. "Keep going."

Next he pulls out a small rectangular pillow. It's thick black and white damask, the white parts slightly colored and yellowing from age. It's piped in black and has a large button tufted in the center. It's ugly as hell, she knows that, but that's not the point.

"The one and only sewing task completed from my family sciences class in school. And it is the reason for this scar here."

Ellie extends her left hand to him, palm up, and points out the small white line of flesh below the base of her thumb. It's where the needle from the machine struck her. (She should have had the presser foot down like the teacher said.)

"Nearly mortally wounded, and yet managed not to bleed on the pillow."

He's looking dubiously at the pillow, either to decide what the hell to do with it or searching for blood.

"It doesn't really match your decor. You don't have to put it out. Just can't have too many pillows, you know." She's back peddling, wanting to take that back, maybe take all of it back and stick with more insignificant items. He's reaching back into the box before she can, though, and she holds her breath, hoping the last item in there isn't too, too much; one item too many.

Alec pulls the pewter frame out of the box and looks at it wordlessly.

Ellie had been hasty to cut off his commentary before, wanting to speed up the process, and now she's dying for him to say something, anything.

The picture is in black and white. Olly made that change on his computer before he printed it off for her. A surprisingly thoughtful gift from her nephew taken the day she and the boys moved into their new house. In it Ellie is on the floor surrounded by boxes and packing materials, her head turned away from the camera and only her profile showing, Fred is in her lap, reaching up for Tom as he sneakily tries to shower them with biodegradable peanuts. All three of them are smiling, Ellie's eyes crinkled and gums showing.

It's the only family photo she has since it's just the three of them and it comes like a jolt of lightning every time she sees them actually looking happy together. Like a future full of laughter is not an impossible thing. She loves this photo as much as it hurts her to look at it. She'll have to ask Olly to print her another one.

Still he says nothing, running his thumb on the glass over their faces.

Finally she can't stand it and reaches for the photo, she doesn't know what for: to take it back and hide it away, or to find a shelf to put it on since he seems unable to.

Alec pulls it away from her, just out of her grasp, his back to her. "Thanks," he clears his throat. "For all of this."

His words are quiet and broken, like a jagged edge. And then he's moving away from her, taking the photo and pillow with him.

Ellie is left staring at the space vacated by him in the kitchen, but she isn't wondering if she did the right thing anymore.

It wasn't enough. Not even close.

* * *

 

**Chapter 9**

Ellie's wiping down the den walls with a cloth when Alec reemerges from the back. His eyes are red-rimmed but dry and his hands are empty. She doesn't say anything for a while, hands him a rag so he can help her prep the walls to paint. There is nothing she can think to add to their exchange in the kitchen, to her gift of random yet meaningful things and his broken thank you.

Once the walls are clean and all the woodwork has been taped off, Hardy starts pouring the pale gray paint into a pan and she takes a moment to check on Fred.

He's nestled on the floor in a pile of folded clothes, all of Alec's T-shirts and jumpers it would appear, and he is still sound asleep. His cupid's bow of a mouth is open slightly and his rapidly darkening eyelashes brush his cheeks. He'll be asleep for a while yet, and Ellie stands for another minute or two watching him breathe.

It strikes her at the oddest times, like now, how desperately thankful she is that both of her children are alive and healthy. Perhaps not unscathed by life's cruelty, but _alive_. She doesn't think that desperation will ever go away, that it never goes away for any parent. When her boys are grown with lives and families of their own she'll still have that insistent and overwhelming need to protect them burning her up.

Ellie squats down and brushes the downy soft locks of chestnut hair off her son's forehead before turning to go. As she walks towards the door she sees it propped in the deep-set windowsill - her family photo. Alec had placed it there next to his keys and wallet and other scattered bits from his pockets. Like her family belongs right alongside him.

One fourth of the edging is done when she walks back in the den, Alec balanced gingerly on the paint can to reach above the windows. "Grab a roller, Miller. If we hurry we can have this done before you have to go pick up Tom."

"Right," she chirps, grabbing a roller and loading it up.

She hums while she works. Ellie doesn't notice it until he starts humming the tune along with her under his breath. She smiles into the wall when he does because she is absolutely certain he doesn't realize that he's joined in.

It takes only a little over a half an hour to have the whole room finished. So little wall that needed paint really. She stands back and gives it a critical eye once they're done. It's a world away from what it had been with the dark floral wallpaper. It looks sharp and crisp and she thinks maybe she was wrong in arguing with him about the gray color. It looks great.

Ellie turns to say just that to him at the same moment he moves behind her, arm extended with the edging brush to touch up the triangle of wall he missed before. He touches up her cheek instead. The bristles of the brush are wet and tickle, the paint sticky against her skin.

She shrieks when he does it, more out of surprise than anything, and Alec's eyes go wide as saucers, the fear reflected there comical. He drops the brush in the tray on the floor and Ellie sucks in a breath, laughter building in her lungs.

That dies out before it starts, all the air in her lungs caught when his thumb comes up to try and wipe the smudge away.

"Sorry," he mumbles hastily. "Should have told you I was behind you."

Ellie nods dumbly, a flush raising up her skin she wishes she could control. He doesn't seem to notice, sweeping the pad of his thumb up her skin again then wiping it off on his already paint splotched T-shirt. His eyes are downcast so that she can't see the brown of his irises.

When she pushes up on her toes she misses his mouth slightly, reaching equal parts stubble and dry lips. Ellie can feel him stagger slightly over her, the force and surprise of her kiss knocking him off balance.

As he rocks back on his heels Ellie pulls away, confidence in her actions deserting her.   

He doesn't move away from her though, and she risks a look up. He's staring at her mouth and his right hand comes to her waist, holding her there. She can feel the paint on his thumb through the material of her T-shirt.

This time, finally, when he kisses her she is ready. His mouth is warm and the kiss slow. There is a hesitance, an unsure and testing feel about him that makes her think they are on equal footing. It makes the terror beating in her heart calm. It makes her bold.

Ellie steps closer to him until their hips brush and places an encouraging hand on his arm. It does just that, Alec tilting his head to get closer to her, his mouth parting and pulling her lower lip in between his.

Her heart is beating in her ears, blood rushing in a torrent, and it's a blur. It's her tongue running along his lips and seeking and until she finds his. It's him biting then soothing her lip and his hands spanning her back, pulling her to him and rucking up her shirt in the process.

She stumbles backward but he is right there with her, walking her back until she hits the wall. For a split second Ellie considers that the top-half of the wall is still tacky with paint, but the way he is pressing into her against it, his hand roaming down her thigh and her leg coming up to brace around him makes her not care.

Alec slides his lips along her jaw and to the junction of her neck, giving her a moment to catch her breath, his mouth hot. Ellie wonders as she pulls him even closer how this happened so quickly; from a tentative and testing kiss to her shirt pulled halfway up and the length of his body pressing against her.

She doesn't mind the swift change, doesn't mind the feeling of completely giving in to what feels good, letting it sweep away everything else in her head. Ellie mirrors his movements, placing kisses wherever she can find on his neck and shoulder. He responds by tightening his arms around her and grinding closer.

His beard scratches her skin sending shivers through her as he makes his way back to her mouth. Her leg, the one that's still placed on the ground, is starting to tremble. She thinks they need to stop or they need to find a more horizontal place to continue this.

Ellie's about to suggest just that when all of her senses start rushing back. The astonishing fact of what she is doing and with whom butting heads with the realization that her two year old is asleep on the other side of the wall that she is currently pressed against and that it has to be time to leave to get Tom.

Ellie doesn't push him away, but she stills any movements, her breath coming sharp even in her own ears. Alec slowly stills, his mouth lingering over hers, his own ragged breaths coming out warm and washing over her lips like a caress.

"Right," he says, his voice low and hoarse, answering a comment she didn't really vocalize. He moves away from her methodically, each part of his body disengaging one at a time until finally there is no part of them touching. The sense of loss fills her immediately.

Ellie swipes at her mouth with her fingers, the skin she finds there tender and wet. "It's probably time to head to the school." Her voice sounds apologetic, and she is. She doesn't want to go. She stands up straight trying to find the courage to leave, and her shirt pulls away from the wall with a sickening sound.

"You're going to have to touch that spot up," she says pointing to where the wall is marred behind her, the half-dried paint formed into odd impressions.

"I might leave it..." his voice trails off, dark and full of promises. Yeah, she really needs to leave right now. He seems to get that, picking up on her need to push this... thing - this desire - aside for now. He shifts further away and runs a hand through his hair, his forearms covered in the same swaths of matted gray. "Sorry about your shirt."

She can't see the worst of it, but Ellie knows that it's effectively ruined with paint. She shrugs and finds a smile playing on her lips.

He smiles back at her, a new smile that she has never seen from him before. One that actually looks happy and that makes it all the way to the creases next to his eyes.

"I really do need to go," she says hesitantly, hoping he can hear how difficult it is to follow through.

"I'll - I'll get Fred, yeah?"

"Thanks," she says as he heads to the bedroom. Ellie runs her hands along the back of her head, fingers trembling, and feels where the paint is already drying and crunchy on the ends of her hair. She leaves it, nothing for it now anyway, and takes a deep breath.

Alec carries the boy still half asleep all the way downstairs to her car, finally settling Fred into his carseat and fastening the straps around him. It shouldn't, but it surprises her every time he does something to remind her that he's a father. It seems to come so easily for him and that's a surprise too.

She loiters by the car, waiting for something she doesn't even know. And then she does. It's him and the way he is looking at her. His gaze as he walks closer warms her just as much as the midday March sun. She really doesn't want to go.

"Stay over tonight." The words tumble out of her mouth before she can censor them. The way her sudden offer sounds makes her blush. Alec raises an eyebrow at the offer and she flounders to state what she really meant.

"You checked out of Traders and don't even have a blow-up mattress. Tell me you're not planning on sleeping on the floor tonight."

He opens his mouth quickly as if to deny it, but closes it again before replying. "I hadn't given it much thought, honestly."

"Stay then. The sofa is pretty comfortable," she adds carefully.

He eyes her warily, like the offer is some kind of trick or minefield he has to navigate.

"It's no big deal," she shrugs. "Do whatever you want."

"Okay. Yeah." He answers quickly, like he's afraid she'll take it back.

Ellie slides into the car after checking to make sure her shirt is dry enough not to ruin her seat and then drives away. She can see him in the side mirror. He doesn't wave, but he stays watching her go until his form is a dot and then gone altogether. Something is blooming in her stomach, something that feels like excitement and genuine fear, and she wonders if inviting him over tonight was the equivalent of placing a landmine in her living room.

* * *

 

**Chapter 10**

 She is a moron. What in God's name made her think that it would be a good idea, after properly snogging him, to invite Hardy over to spend the night on her _sofa_? And Ellie isn't even completely sure why she's lying here mad at herself, eyes unfocused and unseeing, her bedroom dark so that she can only make out the silhouette of furniture. Is it because she invited him? Or because he's here and there's an entire staircase separating them?

Ellie shifts in the bed again. She's been wallowing so long the bed has become almost unbearably uncomfortable. Normally this time of night - technically early morning really - she gives up and goes down to the den, cleans something, organizes, or burns up time on the computer. Can't do that now, though. Not with a long Scotsman racked out on the couch.

Despite the chill that persists in this house, the sheets are overly warm around Ellie. It feels like she's worn a groove into the bed and no matter how she lays it only feels miserable. Finally she gives up and pushes the blankets off her and sits up, legs dangling off the side of the bed.

She'd been doing so much better recently. Not great, but better. She's slept more consecutive hours in the last three weeks than in the last six months and the feeling of having her feet back under her, her head not constantly in the clouds has made a huge difference in her mood. She is actually starting to feel like herself again, and that is such a surprise she doesn't know what to do with it. Ellie doesn't know what to do with the prospect of a future that isn't bleak.

And so much of that has to do with the man downstairs.

Ellie sighs, running a hand along her flannel pajama clad legs. Shit, she wants to be able to sleep.

She wouldn't admit it if called on it, but she's been thinking of him. At night, every night since she had the dream that Alec was in bed with her. It's what's been making the difference, why sleep is finally visiting her again. Ellie isn't proud of it, but if she squeezes her eyes tightly enough, lays on her side, pillow under her arm, she can feel his presence. And it's soothing. Nothing untoward about it.

She misses sharing her bed. Misses the steady rhythm of someone else’s breathing lulling her to sleep. In her darkest moments, in the first months living in this new old house, she was terrified she missed Joe. She would lay in the middle of her bed at night, the new bed that she bought even though she couldn't afford it - she couldn't keep the one they shared - and she would tell herself she didn't miss him. Those words like a mantra that felt untrue and the fear keeping her awake.

It was only after she came to the conclusion that it is the absence of the comfort, the trust and relaxation of another person in her bed, Alec or anyone, that those feelings started being okay again. So she pretends that the only person she trusts is there, arms loose around her and steady breaths tickling the top of her head.

Only tonight it doesn't work. She can't pretend because she knows very well where Alec is, and it isn't where she wants him to be. For the umpteenth time she thinks about going downstairs and waking him up, dragging him back up the stairs with her and into her bed just so she can rest.

Of course she doesn't. Never would. Especially after what happened today. Harder to make her innocent intentions believable when he just had his hand up her shirt and her tongue in his mouth.

She wants to, though. Wants to force him into being what she needs, consequences be damned. She shouldn't have invited him. At least he'll be gone tomorrow. Maybe then she'll be able to believe her delusions and sleep.

Ellie slides back into bed and beneath the now cool sheets. She stares unfocused eyes at the ceiling once more and she does not sleep.

* * *

Alec stays the next night.

Of course he does.

The deal she offered him, technically, was to stay until he had a bed to sleep in. It's Saturday. His furniture will be delivered on Monday. Which means he'll be here tomorrow night too.

This is her fault and she tries to take her punishment stoically.

Ellie is loitering in the upstairs bath. When she stops brushing her teeth long enough she can hear him moving around downstairs, a case being zipped followed by footfalls. She flips on the faucet, drowning him out, and spits.

It's going to be a long night.

* * *

The ceiling is no more soothing than the two hundred other nights she's stared at it, and Ellie thinks she might go mad if she lays here another minute. She can't even use her own fucking house. The four walls of her room are starting to feel like a prison.

That thought makes her think of Joe. And the thought of Joe propels her out of bed as if she shot from a spring.

She has to get out of this room. She snatches the thin cotton robe off the hook on the door and shakes it on over her pajama set. It does nothing in the way of warmth or modesty, the plaid sleepwear with twenty buttons the opposite of salacious, but it's habit.

Ellie tiptoes down the stairs noiselessly, clinging to the railing knowing that the middle of the stairs creak. She makes it to the bottom and pauses, listening. She can hear a steady, even rattle of breath coming from the middle of the room. She should keep walking, moving towards the kitchen and the glass of brandy in which she is seeking. Instead, she stays, her hand on the banister, listening.

He isn't snoring. Just a steady wheeze of deep breathing.

"You coming in, or are you just going to stand there all night?"

Ellie jumps out of her skin when he speaks, his quiet, murmured words loud in the silent house. She doesn't move further into the room, the surprise of him being awake rooting her to the spot.

"Ellie?" he calls. His voice is thick and gruff, like he woke only because he heard her.

"Yes?" Still she doesn't move.

She can hear the couch springs groan and the dim light through the curtains is enough to see his outline as he rises to sit up. "What are you doing?"

Ellie swallows and tries to remember. There was a reason other than him why she came down here. Oh yes! "I couldn't sleep. Thought a glass of brandy would help."

He doesn't say anything and as her eyes continue to adjust she can make out more of his face, relaxed and eyes blinking slowly out of unison with the other.

"I'm sorry I woke you." She finally disengages her fingers from their death-grip on the banister and takes a cautious step toward the kitchen. And the sofa.

"'S fine."

She nods, thinking he might say more, or waiting for him to lie back down. He does neither.

"Want a glass?"

"Hmm?" His eyes pop back open, Ellie unaware that they had both been closed.

"A glass of brandy. Do you want one?" He remains silent and she finds her feet again and heads for the kitchen. "Go back to sleep," she whispers.

"Wait." The blanket rustles as he stands up. "I'll have one."

His hand slips into hers briefly as he walks past her on his way into the kitchen. The light in the kitchen is harsh when he flips the switch, both of them squinting in reflex.

It would seem like she is following his lead until he stands there, vacant look on his face, and she remembers he doesn't know where she stashes her booze.

Ellie reaches past him to the upper cupboard behind Alec's head, and while she reaches up, her body stretched so close to his, he places a light, steadying hand on her waist. It's gentle and not provocative and she relaxes into his touch, her halting breath coming more even just at the contact. The tightly wound desperation that has been building the last two nights, born out of frustration is smoothing out, his sleepy attention doing what even many glasses of brandy would not be able to achieve.

She's sad to lose that contact when she drops back to her heels and moves the other cabinet where the glasses are. He follows closely though, not touching but still staying near.

They drink for a while in the quiet, neither moving to sit down. After several minutes he reaches out to her again, this time skimming his hand up her arm and along her shoulder. The tips of his fingers knead lightly into the soft skin where the tendons in her neck join her shoulder.

It's not a conscientious touch. More like he noticed the bunch and twist of her tired muscles and is obliged to help ease them. Ellie sinks into the feeling, tingles running down her arms and loosening the muscles all the way down, her glass dangerously close to slipping from her grasp.

Eventually the touch slows to merely a gentle caress, and without any grace at all Ellie's head falls heavily against his shoulder so that he is half holding her.

"Can't sleep, hm?"

The way her murmurs the words into the top of her head, his breath ruffling her hair, is so close to the way she imagined it so many nights that it makes her want to cry.

"No," she finally replies.

"I thought you'd been doing better."

She had been. Until he came here and ruined the illusion. She wouldn't tell him this, though. And the feeling of actually having his hand warm against her skin and the steady, if assisted, beat of his heart under her ear so divine, that she thinks she might trade the last two sleepless nights for this moment.

A minute passes, or minutes, Ellie can't tell, the texture of time and consciousness slipping away from her, through the cracks in her fatigue.

She can feel the escape of air above her, familiar enough now to recognize that it's the accompaniment of a smile. "Seems like you're having no trouble now."

Had she been asleep? She has been there long enough that he's braced his hip on the counter behind them and her arm is tingling like it has had the flow of blood stifled.

She shrugs into his mirth and it makes him laugh fully at her, a rumbling thing she feels building in his chest before she hears it.

They should move. She can't keep him trapped here all night, no matter how appealing that sounds. When she does finally move away he is peering down at her. Alec's face is open and relaxed. There is no hint of discomfort there, only trust. It makes the words she swore she wouldn't say fly out of her mouth.

"Come to bed with me."

* * *

 

**Chapter 11**

Alec's eyes widen and she knows what it sounds like. And she doesn't care.

_Come to bed with me._

Yeah, she could have chosen her words more carefully. Except that is exactly what she means. So she lets it sit there for a moment between them, lets him look at her closely, scrutinizing her meaning, and lets him draw his own conclusion.

"Ellie..." he shakes his head and lets the breath of her name be enough of a response. Alright then, so she'll have to explain.

"I had been doing better. But I can't - the last two nights I haven't even been able to force my eyes shut. And here we are standing in my bloody kitchen and I can't even keep my bloody eyes open!" She thinks maybe that's too many 'bloodys' but it helps her make her point. "I just want to sleep. I can't go another day feeling like a zombie."

"And me coming to bed with you will accomplish that?"

Granted, it does sound mad and all the numerous reasons she is sure that it will are more than she finds herself able to share. So she shrugs, perhaps a little petulantly, and says, "It can't hurt to try."

He regards her for a while, same as when she invited him to stay, like there is a catch or this is a test he isn't convinced he won't fail. It’s one of the things that maddens Ellie about their relationship.

Dear God, it is a relationship. It is, she knows it is ever since he  bore his soul and brushed away the hair from her cheek on that bench a week ago. But that coupled with the kiss they shared makes the request she just made sound a bit daft. And makes her wonder if he's hesitating for another reason. One that has less to do with wondering if she's calculating and more about his intentions and self-control.

Ellie's looking for the words to give him an out, something that expresses that she does understand and that maybe she shouldn't have been so bold to ask in the first place. But before she can he gives her his answer.

"Okay." He brushes his hand across her cheek, swiping loose strands of her hair in the spaces between his fingers. "If you think it will help I'll do anything."

That sounds like so much of a promise and she can only nod in response.

Alec takes the half-drunk glass of brandy from her hand and sets it in the sink, his empty glass following. Then he takes her hand and holds it in his all the way through the house and up the stairs. Her room is dark as they walk through the door. She didn't turn any lights on for fear of giving her movements away, and now it makes the room feel almost foreign to her. The darkness and fatigue and the feel of him solid in front of her is all playing tricks on her, transforming the shadows that she knows so well into strange monoliths.

Her eyes still haven't adjusted from the light in the kitchen and she wishes that there was at least a nightlight so she could see what his face looked like. If he was appraising or relaxed. Though maybe it's best if she can't. Ellie isn't sure she'd be able to let go of his hand and pull the sheets back and fold into the bed if she could see the look on his face. Either look.

Alec doesn't tarry, following her between the sheets immediately. It's then that she realizes she doesn't know how far she is going to take this. Should she keep her distance for propriety's sake? She didn't ask him if he would come to bed with her _and_  cuddle.

He takes the need to make the decision away from her when he places his arm around her shoulder, just like in the kitchen, and pulls her gently to him.

Ellie sinks down in his embrace instantly, like melting wax.

It doesn't happen instantly, nothing like in the kitchen, and he falls asleep long before she does. This time he does snore after a while, once he's in a deep sleep. For the moment, for Ellie, sleep is the second most appealing thing. Now that she has him here, snug and sleeping soundly with her head pillowed on his chest, she can listen and collect data for future reference. She lays the facts of what he feels, sounds and smells like _really_  over the information she created for the sake of her sleep to see what matches up. There are differences, of course there are. He's more slight under her than she imagined, if that's even possible, and louder too. But the feel is the same.

Alec is warm and real with her and she thinks, right before she falls off the edge into sleep, that maybe she spoiled everything properly now. How on earth will she ever be able to imagine him here with her now that she's had the real thing?

* * *

He wakes before she does. It's Sunday and she doesn't have an alarm set, why should she, and yet it's still early. The sun has risen just enough that its warm fingers of light are prying gently under the blinds. Ellie notices the warm lump under her, disorientated for only a heartbeat before remembering last night and him. She doesn't move or make a sound but he must know she's awake.

Alec brushes the hand resting on her arm up, up as high as he can reach without straining, and then back down again in a lazy rhythm. She rubs her face into his shirt like a cat who's enjoying the petting, an encouragement for him to keep doing that. She thinks if he keeps it up she might go back to sleep.

"I should go," he whispers.

Ellie's stomach drops out. Right. Yeah. Perhaps he should go. She's gotten carried away. They aren't playing house. And his willingness to go along with her, his kindness, must have its limits.

"Yes. I guess you should."

Ellie pushes on his chest to sit up but the hand on her upper arm tightens and pulls her back down to him.

"Wait. Just another few minutes. Then I really should go back downstairs before the boys wake up. I'm guessing you don't want to have to explain my presence in your room to Tom."

Of course. Ellie's ashamed she hasn't even taken that into consideration. It would be no good at all for Tom to see Alec doing some modified walk of shame out of his mother's room, would it? She's also ashamed because she's sure that Alec caught that tone in her voice, that cool distance like she was bracing for his rejection. She was and she should not have doubted him.

They stay that way for a while, Ellie's hand brushing up his forearm in a mirror of his action. She hopes that's enough for him to feel that she's trying. It's when she starts to doze again, her fingers stilling against his skin, that he prods her.

"It's nearly half seven." She nods into his chest and rolls away, for the first time this morning able to see his face. Alec looks rested and content and she hopes she looks the same.

"I was thinking," he says as he slips out of the bed, "that, since it's Sunday and all, and since you've been so kind as to have me stay, that I'd make a proper breakfast for everyone this morning. If you'd like."

Ellie nods emphatically even as she yawns, her jaw cracking and her arms over her head in a stretch she just can't help. Too long spent in the same position.

"Good. See you soon." He smiles at her, a small, dare-she-think tender smile, and then is gone, the door latching quietly behind him.

Ellie wants to protest, to make him wait for her and then go down together. Only he's already gone and it would do her some good to pull herself together. There are too many dangerous ideas and words perched precariously on her tongue. So she lounges for a while longer, for the first time since she bought it this bed feeling comfortable and lounge-worthy.

Eventually she makes herself get up and decides to be motivated today. Ellie picks out clothes, just a warm jumper and blue jeans, but the jumper is a pretty lavender, a shade that always reminded her of the first bit of color on the crocuses that come up in springtime.

Quickly she showers and puts on just the most basic dabs of makeup. She starts to pin her hair back on each sides with matching tortoiseshell combs, and then changes her mind, hoping that her hair will be free, maybe a bit wild, and Alec will have to run his fingers in it, pushing it away to view her face more clearly.

Ellie's stomach flips at the thought like a schoolgirl with a new crush and she pushes that thought aside. It feels like that. Only this is better. The smell of coffee, coffee that she knows he's only made for her, is making its way up the stairs, tempting her, but before she goes down she stops in Fred's nursery to see if he's still sleeping. He is. Then she puts an ear to Tom's door to divine any sounds from within, and there are none.

Alec's sitting, looking completely comfortable, at the dining table in the den, steaming mug of tea and her Sunday Echo torn apart in front of him. She pours a cup of coffee and joins him. Ellie enlists his help with the crossword puzzle only to get bored (and frustrated with it) halfway through and pitches it aside. Alec tsks at her and places it in his stack of things yet to read, presumably to finish it later. And then perhaps to gloat.

At the sound of Tom stirring over an hour later, Alec folds everything of his away and stands to go towards the kitchen. Ellie opens her mouth to ask if he needs help with any of the cooking but he speaks first, Alec turned back on his heel in the doorway.

"I'll be there again tonight, yeah?"

"Yes." Ellie somehow forces the word out around her surprise. Yes. Tonight. Any night.

She stares at the paper without reading anything for a very long time. Long enough that she can smell bacon and beans and toast. Two words are jamming any other signals from getting past her eyes and into her brain. Two words that would look banal out of context but in her head pop like firecrackers.

_Every night._

* * *

Tom catches her smiling at Alec over breakfast. He's not doing anything, Alec isn't, just eating and commenting on how Fred is mashing more beans in his chubby fingers than he's actually eating, and she smiles. Ellie doesn't even realize she's doing it, her grin wide and half obscured by the toast in her hand when she notices her eldest son staring at her. She can feel the brightness in her eyes, knows that the lightness in her chest feels shockingly like happiness and she doesn't know if she should tamp it down and hide it for his sake or smile even wider and let him see all of it.

It does slip some from her face, her uncertainty making it waiver, until Tom smiles, a little halfheartedly, back at her. Maybe it isn't that she's smiling at Alec that is a surprise to her son; maybe it's that she is smiling at all. Again.

* * *

**THE END**


End file.
